Page 189 of Dragon Slayer

Val chuckled in spite of himself. No one around here was frightened of him; this boy’s nerves were refreshing, actually. “Here, look.” He lifted his lip with his thumb and pushed his fangs out again.

Nestor startled.

Arslan snorted a quiet laugh.

Val dropped his hand. “Lots of creatures have fangs,” he said primly. “Wolves, and bears, and foxes, and even bats. It’s how they eat. Well…in my case. Drink.”

Nestor swallowed with obvious difficulty. “But you eat food. I’ve seen you.”

“Yes. I need both to survive. Arslan’s right: it’s not like in the stories.” He held out his hand. “I’m real, I’m alive. I’m warm. I’m not the undead.”

Nestor looked at his hand a long second before he took a breath and squared his shoulders, like he was preparing to go into battle.

“It’s a good thing you told me about all your languages,” Val said, “because you’d make a terrible soldier.”

Nestor frowned, and reached to lay his hand over the back of Val’s.

“See? Warm,” Val said, and withdrew. “You should also know that your sultan is a vampire as well.”

Nestor’s brows jumped.

Arslan said, “He’s not my sultan.”

“Hush, you,” Val said. “But, listen. The reason I speak of it now, is that I need to explain something to you. I need you to understand it because I’m going to get you both away from here.”

They started to protest, together, and Val held up a hand. “No. I can handle this life. My future is already set here, but I won’t have you two suffer similar fates. I can’t…” He took a tight breath, and his gaze strayed to Arslan, memories of his bruises and his terror flooding back, painful. “Let me protect you,” he said, softly, and Arslan looked away with guilt. “Let me, please.”

And he told them of his dream-walking.

He explained it in limited terms, to protect them, should they ever be questioned about it – and to protect himself. He left out Constantine, and any specific destinations.

“In the chaos of the coming battle,” he said, “I think I can get you both away. But I’ll need your secrecy, and your cooperation.”

Arslan nodded straight away, though his big gold lion’s eyes brimmed with sadness. He’d grown attached, Val knew, just as he knew it would pain him to no longer see the boy’s sweet face once he was gone. But he was determined now.

Nestor looked less convinced. He fidgeted, knocking his boots together at the ankles. “It sounds…forgive me, but it sounds impossible.”

“So does everything, at first. For instance, I’ve just told you I can send my mind across continents.”

A shaky breath. A nod. “What would happen to you? If the sultan knew you’d helped us escape?”

Val offered a smile. “You let me worry about that. There’s nothing he can throw at me that I can’t take.”

~*~

Constantine picked his head up – he’d been sitting with his chin in his hand, gaze growing distant as a cardinal wheedled at him about the Schism yet again – and noticed Val standing at the back of the room. He nudged George Sphrantzes with his elbow and flapped a hand at the cardinal and his retinue. “That’s enough, Paul. No more for now. Leave us.”

The cardinal let out an aborted sound of frustration, a bitten-back protest he thought better of, and jerked to his feet. His retinue, all of the gilded church set, stood and together they trooped out of the room, surly-faced as a bunch of wet nurses with ill-tempered charges.

None of them noticed Val because he didn’t allow them to.

Sphrantzes blew out a relieved breath when they were gone. “You should pop in more often,” he told Val. “How about every time those pompous windbags show their faces?”

“I’d like nothing more, sir,” Val said, gliding forward and projecting himself down into one of the vacated chairs, legs crossed at the knee so that the candlelight flashed off his polished boots. “But my own windbag keeps me busy, I’m afraid.”

Sphrantzes snorted in disgust – disgust and solidarity. Val found that he appreciated it.

“We thank you for the interruption,” Constantine said. “But I’m assuming you’re here on business.”

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